


Coffee and Shakespeare

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Series: Tom Hiddleston Drabbles [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: A Tom Hiddleston drabble for @whiskeyandwashitape based on thegif because…. Ugh… the bunny bit and wouldn’t let go.





	Coffee and Shakespeare

## Tom Hiddleston Drabble

* * *

Tom was sitting at the counter in the small diner waiting patiently like he had every morning for the past week for the door to chime behind him. Every time it did, he would glance over his shoulder to see if it was her, Emme, the reason he returned to the hard seat at the counter again and again.

She was the pretty waitress who had the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. It was as bright as the yellow dress uniform and white apron she wore. The colour like sunshine seemed to just lighten the entire room when she came in, and the blush which formed when she gave him that sweet, soft smile was like the kiss of a rose to her cheeks.

He was, quite simply, smitten.

Emme worked the early shifts, her afternoons taken up with school, her training that of a theatre major, the worn copy of a Hamlet, dog-eared and ratty around the edges, had drawn his notice the first time he’d stopped to catch a bite to eat when he’d had a free morning.

He’d commented on it, the clearly well-loved book, only to watch her eyes light up, her face coming alive when she’d tugged it from her pocket.

She’d gushed, her love for the play clear in every word and action as she’d related how excited she was to be studying the masterpiece, and understudying for Ophelia.

Unable to help himself, Tom had murmured, “The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons. Be all my sins remember’d.”

With eyes gleaming bright, she’d whispered back, “Good my lord. How does your honour for this many a day?”

They’d flirted via Hamlet, and he’d never been more enticed. Every day since he’d returned to spend a portion of her morning with her, even if she was often called away to deal with other customers, she returned to refill his coffee with far more regularity than she needed.

Today, though, as he waited for her to arrive, Tom adjusted his tie, sliding a hand down it with care. He was finally going to do it, ask her to dinner, at her convenience of course. He had dressed in his favourite brown jacket, hoping she would like it, dark shirt and tie looking quite sharp.

If his knee bounced a touch, he ignored the nerves. The worst which could happen was she would say no. He didn’t think she would, but there was always the chance.

When the door chimed, he set his cup back on the counter and glanced over his shoulder, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.

 _There she was_.

This time, though, there was no bright yellow dress or white apron, but a cherry red sweater, dark jeans, and a panicked look on her face when she started swiftly toward him.

“Tom!” she breathed, darting forward, nearly falling to the stool at his side. “I’m so glad you're here!”

“Emme, dear? What is it?” Turning to face her, he took her hand between his, worried at her dishevelled appearance.

“Michelle is out. She’s out! Fell down the stairs at the theatre and broke her leg. I’m it! I’m Ophelia!” she said, hands shaking.

“Darling! That’s wonderful! Well, not so much for Michelle, but you shall be a brilliant Ophelia,” he said, smiling though now he knew he would likely see even less of her, sadly. It appeared he’d missed his chance.

She shook her head, eyes wide. “I’m not ready! I can’t do this. I’ll be so _terrible_!” she practically wailed, chin falling to her chest. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and really if you say no I’ll completely understand. You’re Tom Hiddleston after all. Helping out a University student is likely low on your list of priorities, but I really need to run lines, and our Hamlet is down with the flu, and my roommates are all _terrible_ at getting the inflections right, and _I don’t know what to do_!” she cried.

“Emme,” he called softly, cupping her cheek and smiling gently. “I would be delighted to run lines with you.”

“Really?” she sighed, her relief palpable when she looked up.

“Truly.”

Her hands slipped from his to wrap around his lapels. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’m freaking out!”

He reached for his wallet, tossed the standard bills upon the counter and stood to offer his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes. I have a fitting in an hour. Do you mind doing this at the theatre?” she asked, quietly.

“Lead the way, darling,” he murmured, smiling down at her. It may not have been _exactly_ how he’d planned to spend time with Emme, but it involved Shakespeare and the woman he found exceedingly delightful and attractive.

Perhaps it was better.

**_-The End -_ **


End file.
